


Marriage of (Con)venience

by mandilorian



Series: Pulling a fast one [1]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Regency, Background Relationships, F/F, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Minor Combeferre/Éponine Thénardier, Minor Cosette Fauchelevent/Marius Pontmercy, Regency Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-18
Updated: 2020-10-18
Packaged: 2021-03-08 23:27:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,191
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27074956
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mandilorian/pseuds/mandilorian
Summary: It is a truth universally acknowledged, that marrying a wealthy American industrialist can solve any malaises. Thus, Grantaire and Eponine set off for her to seduce (and abandon) Enjolras, a cotton tycoon making a name for himself in England.What could go wrong?aka a regency romance AU.
Relationships: Enjolras/Grantaire (Les Misérables)
Series: Pulling a fast one [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2013178
Comments: 20
Kudos: 70





	Marriage of (Con)venience

**Author's Note:**

> I unironically love regency romance and when [piecesofcait](https://thepiecesofcait.tumblr.com/) announced the [The Miserable(s) Month](https://themiserablesmonth.tumblr.com/) with one of the themes being "disguise" I just couldn't resist. I went back and forth on the smut because I'm a coward, but it's a regency romance so I had to. Forgive me.

July 1872  
Leeds, West Yorkshire

Pondering one’s life choices and decisions while climbing out of a window seemed like a bad idea, but then again, climbing out of a third-story window in the middle of the night did always have that kind of effect on Grantaire. He carefully placed his left foot on another window’s ledge, his right foot seeking purchase on gaps between bricks on the wall. God bless old manor houses and broke aristocratic families, this wall was not well maintained and he found his way down easily. He looked around to make sure no one was watching before he crouched down on the lawn below. Grantaire allowed himself a relieved exhale then began to make his way to the back gate, which was when he walked straight into Enjolras.

“So, you really would rather jump out of a window than talk to me then?” 

“I didn’t actually jump,” Grantaire stalled weakly. This proved to be a bad call as Enjolras’ carefully composed facade slipped and his lips thinned. Something like hurt flashed in his eyes and Grantaire folded. He could withstand many things, jumping (climbing?) from windows and running away with no prospect included, but he could not stand the usually formidable Enjolras looking so crestfallen all because of him.

“Very well. This was long overdue anyhow,” Grantaire began while sitting down on the lawn with his back to the wall. He took a steadying breath. “Two years ago Eponine and I betrayed her parents….”

……………………….

Eponine was the first person Grantaire had ever loved. If one was born in Limehouse it was a pretty safe bet that one’s destiny would include petty thefts and avoiding knife wounds but without anything as outrageous as love. Grantaire had been on his own from the moment he could walk. His parents were nowhere to be found and he’d learned to survive on scraps and then unsuspecting passersby' pockets. When he was ten he had the misfortune of trying to pick a pocket belonging to Monsieur Thenardier, a crime lord freshly emigrated from France. Thenardier saw potential in the little street urchin and made Grantaire one of his men. There, Grantaire met Eponine, Thenardier’s long-suffering daughter, who was somehow even more world wary than Grantaire despite having two parents and being a year younger.

Days turned to months and the next thing they knew they were both suffocating under Eponine’s parents. Both Eponine and Grantaire had no qualms about scamming their ways through those whose lots in life were better than theirs, but the Thenardiers drew absolutely no moral objection against any kind of atrocities. Grantaire would never raise his hands against anyone, let alone children, he had seen far too many lives cut short on the mean streets of London. The Thenardier’s however, delighted in petty cruelty and would bleed an elderly citizen dry just for a few pence or a pair of gloves. Grantaire and Eponine got out by stealing from under her parents’ noses and bribing Thenardier’s henchman Montpanasee to turn a blind eye as they walked out of the house in broad daylight (criminals were much more accomplished at night). They weaselled their way into London's gentry’s peripherals. Thenardier might have been a criminal mastermind, but his dealings were primarily with London’s underbelly. He was too shady a character to fit in with London’s upper class. 

All things considered, they had been doing pretty well. Eponine had two seasons in London by bribing a penniless peer into introducing her as his niece who grew up on a nutmeg plantation in the orient. Grantaire then showed up pretending to be her half-brother because his olive complexion, inky black curls, and upturned eyes would never fully fit in with Almack's crown without some explanation. People had said Grantaire’s mother was a Chinese herbalist who fell in love with a French sailor, but since neither of his parents had ever deigned to make an appearance in his life he was never too sure. Grantaire and Eponine were charming and exotic, their background obscure enough to not be suspecting. Eponine conned her way into the debutant circle and had free rein in any stray jewellery and silvers. Grantaire made fast friends with gentlemen who had more money than they knew what to do with through his bawdy stories lifted from Limehouse labourers. Soon he was a regular at White’s and made his living by enticing his latest acquaintance with investment prospects in many (nonexistent) spice ventures and occasional high stake card games. They never scammed down and were careful to only take enough to live without anyone suspecting anything and Grantaire was only too happy to help relieve lords and ladies of their unearned wealth. If success is determined by the luck of one’s birth, Grantaire considered it his contribution to the general concept of justice for rebalancing the scale a little.

It was all too good to be true. He should have been prepared for Eponine to barge into his room holding a mug of ale one morning in June.

“We can’t keep doing this,” she said solemnly. He knew it was serious because Eponine did not let him have his ale for breakfast when it was not serious.  


“Why not? A few more shipwrecks and we can move to Edinburgh and start over,” Grantaire asked.  


“Marius.”

Of course it was Baron Marius fucking Pontmercy. The man was guileless to a fault and Grantaire could have conned him out of a townhouse in Mayfair with no suspicion. Eponine then had to go and fall hard for the man and refused to take even a shilling from him. Shame the fabulously wealthy Marius didn’t have the courtesy to love her back. He was now engaged to a cotton mill heiress by the name of Cosette. 

“Oh good, now we can’t con his betrothed either?” Grantaire asked.

“No. Yes. I don’t know. it doesn’t matter. What mattered was I met her.” Eponine looked like she would rather swallow lye than relive the experience. Grantaire winced and motioned for her to go on.

“She was one of my parents’ orphanage victims and she recognized me.” 

Grantaire sprung to his feet with that. He grabbed his valise and started throwing shirts and breeches in without folding them. “We leave tonight. I can get us a room in Chiswick and we go north from there,” he started while packing.

“Grantaire”  


“We have enough to get by for a few weeks at least then we can figure it out”  


“Grantaire!”  


“There is a man that owes me near Liverpool, maybe we can go to America. I don’t know if we have enough for four tickets though, we have to find a way to get Gavroche and Azema out tonight too.”  


“R! Stop talking and listen to me. She is not going to tell anyone. As soon as she got me alone she was crying into my damn hands saying how happy she was that I got away too. It was awful. I really wanted to hate her too. But alas, it was not to be.”

“So why can’t we keep going then?”

Eponine bit her lips. “My father. He has eyes and ears all over London and he is bound to hear about how the new Baroness Pontmercy was adopted. He will try to blackmail her and of course, find us in his quest.”

Grantaire tensed up again at the thought. Reuniting with Eponine’s father would be even worse than being found out as a confidence man. He was just about to ask why they were not running away again when she held a finger up to halt him.

“I have a plan. Next week Marius and Couferac are meeting with an American businessman. They are taking over the cotton mills from Cosette’s father after the wedding. The man is supposedly even more wealthy than Marius. I marry him and promise to follow him to America, then put it off until we have enough money for Edinburgh,” Eponine said it all in one breath as if she had been too scared to voice it out loud and wanted Grantaire to comprehend none of it.

Grantaire stared at her, dumbfounded. Marrying someone for money was never on the table for either of them. Grantaire could not feign an attraction to the fairer sex for an extended period of time and Eponine could not stomach the idea of being dependent on anyone, wealthy husbands included. She had had no shortage of marriage proposals, from minor aristocrats to sugar magnates. She could have married her way out a long time ago. Their dream was to move to Scotland, open a small orphanage and take in whichever children were deemed too troublesome by other charities. Grantaire liked books and children, he could teach them to read and paint and Eponine could make sure they stayed alive until they could fend for themselves. Dreams were expensive, however, and the two could not risk leaving the deep pockets of the London socialites before they had the funds.

“Eponine,” he started

“I made up my mind, R. It is the only way we can get enough this fast. The longer we wait, the more chance for my father to find us." Eponine frowned and met his eyes. "The American is due in two days. He is a bachelor of eight and twenty and Americans are always looking for titles. England would be too suffocating for them, I would wager he wouldn't be looking for his dead English wife if we can forge a paper trail after he goes back to America.”

“I don’t like this plan. Too many things can go wrong. What if he is cruel? What if he does not allow any time for you to follow him and demands you consummate the marriage right away?" Grantaire shuddered to think of all the troubles that would bring. "Americans get wealthy by working, Eponine, not by inheritance. He can’t possibly be that stupid if he has enough money to try to buy Madeleine’s mills. Madeleine owns half of Yorkshire and a quarter of Lancashire if not more.” 

Grantaire fixed her with a stare of his own.

“Shame it is not your decision to make, then.” Eponine was not backing down and he knew her well enough to know a losing battle when he saw one. He might not like this plan, but he would be damned if he let her walk right into it alone.

……………………….

The dinner party in honour of the American was as lavish as Grantaire bitterly anticipated. In addition to Madeleine and Marius’ fortunes, Marius’ best friend and business partner Courfeyrac was an Earl with a vast ancestral estate in Surrey. They were sparing no expenses impressing the foreigner. Grantaire learned that the three actually knew one another from Oxford (how cliche) when the American had been a visiting scholar before he turned to business. 

The American in question was introduced to the room and Grantaire forgot how to breathe. He was the most beautiful man Grantaire had ever seen. Statuesque with bright blue eyes and hair the colour of the summer sun. It was curly and longer than what polite society usually accepted, but framed his face perfectly. For a moment he had an irrational fit of jealousy towards Eponine and all the people who were rightfully attracted to their opposite sex. There was not even an infinitesimal chance of him even getting to look at this man the way he wanted to, let alone reach out and touch him. Grantaire was so stunned that he didn’t see that it was his turn to be introduced to the American and that there was a second man behind him.

“Enjolras, pleasure to make your acquaintance,” the American, _Enjolras_ said, conveying no pleasure whatsoever.

“That is a French name, is it not?” Grantaire intelligently supplied while mentally berating himself for his own French name.

Enjolras’ eyes narrowed “Yes, my parents emigrated from France before I was born.” 

“Well, you will find yourself in quite high demand here then, we can’t seem to find anything more fashionable than pretending to speak French lately. Between you and me, though, I myself don’t speak a word of French,” Grantaire added, not knowing why, but he just wanted an excuse to keep talking to the man. Enjolras, however, looked even more put off. “Is that so? What a strange sentiment. We Americans are much more concerned about where we are going rather than where we are from”.

Was this Enjolras even real? Were all Americans like this? Grantaire had never met anyone so serious. What the man said lodged something in his heart and he struggled for composure. Wouldn’t it be lovely to live in a world that cares not for titles and surnames? It would not do to show his hands anyhow, so Grantaire settled for mockery. “Spoken like a man who has nothing to hide. How refreshing,” he said. 

“Are you speaking from experience?” Enjolras countered easily.

“The world is made up of those who do, and liars, good sir.” Grantaire gave him the most charming smile and readied himself for another spar when the man next to them smoothly interrupted.

“On account of French names, I am Combeferre, Mr. Enjolras’ secretary, and I believe you, Mr. Grantaire, were about to introduce us to your sister?” He looked pointedly at Eponine, ever the picture of a blushing English rose, smiling innocently right next to Grantaire.

Grantaire took in Combeferre. The man was as tall as Enjolras, but that was where the similarity ended. If Enjolras could moonlight as a British aristocrat with porcelain skin and delicate features, Combeferre was a fine specimen of a new world citizen. He was much darker, with strong jaws, curly hair cut short, and tan freckles that spoke of mixed heritage. He had kind, intelligent eyes and simply reeked of competency. The secretary, indeed.

“Of course, how very rude of me. My sister, Eponine. This is her second season in London so she has a terrifying amount of information on everyone in this room. You do not want to cross her.” 

Eponine dutifully batted her eyelashes and extended her hand for Enjolras and then Combeferre. 

“Please do ignore my brother, that is what all of us have been doing anyway.”  
Enjolras looked like he was about to argue, while Combeferre simply looked amused.

The party moved onto the large dining room and with Marius’ help, Eponine was sat right next to Enjolras, with Grantaire seated across from her. Eponine brought out all the tricks in the book, she gently patted Enjolras' arm at every opportunity. She asked him about his parents, New York, and all pleasant subjects under the sun then took care to agree with whatever he said enthusiastically. 

Enjolras, for his part, seemed entranced. It was all going well until he started asking for her opinion on the recent worker's rights law that was voted down in the House of Lords. 

“Mr. Enjolras, I don’t know what dinner parties are like in New York, but here in London, we do not discuss politics at the dining table,” Grantaire interrupted before Eponine could stumble and tell him how irrelevant politics is to women who grew up hiding from their fathers’ fists. 

“Believe it or not, you are not the first person to tell me that, New York or London.” 

“And yet here we are.” Grantaire met his eyes.

“I believe politics concerns all our lives. A few old men in an old building have the power to give and take your freedom. How can one not discuss politics any chance one gets? I was told not to discuss politics with family, not to raise the subject of working conditions in the factory with new acquaintances, not to address immigration laws with business partners, so pray tell, Mr. Grantaire, when should I be discussing politics then?” Enjolras finished with a challenging raise of his chin.

Unfortunately for Enjolras and the rest of the party, Grantaire had never met a challenge he didn’t like.

“Of course, let’s talk politics since a lot of good can be accomplished by people who know absolutely nothing about day labourers talking about their rights at a dinner party, correct? Tell me, Mr. Enjolras, how would a rich American such as yourself help a poor orphan working in a Lancashire cotton mill then?” 

“I would start by forbidding the employment of children in my own factory”

“Ah, that was a wrong answer. Now little Oliver has no money, no means to feed himself, and is left to die on the street in the winter.”

Enjolras looked for all the world like he wanted to strangle Grantaire. And damn the man, righteous fury was a good look on him, Grantaire thought absently.

“Orphanages and schools have a responsibility to care for the vulnerable. There is no reason little Oliver or any child should starve on the street.”

“Wrong again, Mr. Enjolras, you are confusing what should be for what is. You would do well to venture out of Manhattan or Mayfair once in a while," he continued. If Enjolras needed a dosage of reality, Grantaire would give him one. "Childminders have been feeding infants gin to keep them quiet and pocketing the milk money since the day they were put into their care. The children then grew up stupid and cannot feed themselves unless they work in one of your factories.” Grantaire smiled mirthlessly, unable to meet Eponine’s furious glare.

“And how would you know that Mr. Grantaire? I was given to believe that you arrived in London two years ago on your uncle’s spice ship after growing up in the Orient?”

Grantaire had unwittingly walked himself into a corner. He could now continue to either fabricate a story of a servant’s background or bait Enjolras some more.

“One hears many things in a big city like London. It doesn’t matter though, we are who we are born to be and a certain pecking order must be maintained." He paused for dramatic effect. "We have a King for this very reason, no?”

Enjolras exploded at that statement for the remainder of the meal. 

Grantaire kept telling himself to stop talking and to let Eponine work her magic on Enjolras, but Enjolras was not content to let him slip away. He followed Grantaire around the drawing room after dinner and was intent on making Grantaire see his views, while Grantaire was set on poking holes in his argument. 

At one point Cosette and Eponine took turns at the piano and Eponine shyly asked if Enjolras would accompany her in a duet. 

“I have no musical talents to speak of, I’m afraid. My dear friend, Mr. Combeferre here cares greatly for the arts, perhaps you wouldn’t mind teaching him your piece?” Enjolras absently replied, eyes trained on Grantaire the whole time. 

……………………….

Grantaire apologized profusely to Eponine at breakfast the next day.

“Christ, R, I don’t care. I am not in love with the man. We are trying to get our hands on his fortune, remember?” Eponine shrugged and sipped her tea.

“But you hardly had a chance to speak to him! I couldn’t help myself, his views were so naïve. And I thought the White’s crowds were bad. How did he grow up to believe in things like equal rights and schools for street urchins? Do they not have street urchins in America? I want to see him try to teach Gavroche discourse on Descartes.”

“You like him.”

“No, I don’t.”

“Be careful, R. Don’t even bother lying to me about it. It’s been so long since you even looked at anyone and under other circumstances, I would do everything I can to help, but he is our chance at freedom." Eponine looked genuinely sorrowful at having to voice her thoughts. "We can’t let him go, I’m sorry.” 

Eponine was sad because she felt sorry for him and Grantaire couldn’t stand it.

“Of course. It was just an attraction, it will pass." Or at least he hoped it would. He could probably will it to pass out of his sheer stubbornness anyway. "How are you not attracted to him though? He is like Apollo incarnate; all golden and furious. I would kill for a chance to paint him.”

“He is too severe for my liking, I think. I much prefer the look of--” 

Grantaire would never know whose look she preferred; as they were interrupted by a light knock on the door. Their butler, Bossuet walked in, announcing that Mr. Enjolras and Mr. Combeferre were at the door. One confused exchange of glances later, they were shown in.

Enjolras didn’t even bother with pleasantries before he announced that he was to visit one of Madeline’s factories in West Yorkshire for the next few days and he would like Grantaire to accompany him, as it would be a chance for Grantaire to see his vision in person.

“Pardon?” Grantaire sputtered out.

“Which part of what I said needs clarification, Mr. Grantaire?” Enjolras replied.

“The part where you want me to visit cotton mills in West Yorkshire, actually, all of it. You do understand that I am not one of your contacts, correct? You do not have to convince me of anything,” Grantaire supplied.

A corner of Enjolras’ mouth twitched up as if they were sharing a private joke, but it quickly disappeared before he replied.

“Oh, but I do.”

……………………….

It was quickly decided that since Grantaire was Eponine’s chaperone, she would have to come along. Combeferre magically produced the travel plan seemingly out of nowhere and Grantaire was both delighted and suspicious when he heard that Eponine, Enjolras, Combeferre, and himself would be sharing a carriage, while Marius, Courfeyrac, Cosette, and Madeleine would be sharing another. Surely Enjolras should be riding with his potential business partners and friends? Eponine seemed to accept it philosophically. She assured Grantaire that she could use the long carriage ride to endear herself to Enjolras.

Grantaire and Enjolras argued the whole way while Combeferre and Eponine talked of everything and nothing.

……………………….

The factory visit was as dull as Grantaire imagined it to be. The mills were massive structures standing seemingly in the middle of nowhere. There were several smaller buildings surrounding the main mills and Enjolras was adamant that the working conditions of every one of them be of the highest standards. He spoke to the workers, asked the foreman questions, inspected the floor for rusty nails and creaky floorboards. The mills were spotless. Too spotless according to Grantaire’s short-lived stint as a factory boy. He interrupted the foreman’s soliloquy on the merits of cleanliness with a question. “So how many workers are here?”

“This floor, 450 sir,” the man answered perplexedly. 

“Right, but they are not all here, no?” Grantaire could see empty sawing stations here and there. 450 indeed.

The foreman coughed “No, sir. We have a head cold going around the village at the moment, I thought it best to prevent the spread and let the sick ones recover.”

“Of course, very sensible of you. When did my company here give you the notice for the visit again?” Grantaire continued 

“A fortnight ago a messenger came around to give us the message and--”

“If you are quite finished with your questions Mr. Grantaire, we would like to move on to the ledger. Might I add that I asked all those questions already. I’d be much obliged if you would kindly pay more attention for the next hour so this gentleman won’t have to repeat himself. And could you please stop wandering about as we talk,” Enjolras interrupted. 

Grantaire only gave him the most insolent bow he could get away with and slinked away to the back of the room, where he found a door handle hidden behind a tapestry and put his head on the wall under a disguise of resting his back and smiled benevolently in response to Enjolras’ glare. 

An hour later they were all piled back up onto the carriage. As soon as they made the first turn out of the factory’s site, Grantaire jumped.

“Oh no! Gentlemen, I must beg your forgiveness. I seem to have forgotten my gloves!”

Enjolras looked at him sceptically, but Combeferre smiled and offered to turn the carriage back.  
“No, you mustn’t. The path is too narrow and rocky. I shall be much quicker on foot. Please bear with me a moment while I nip back to the floor. I am certain I left them in the sewing room. Would Mr. Enjolras kindly accompany me, though? I believe the foreman might not let me in the building without your charming presence.” He gave the most apologetic smile he could muster and ducked his head down with embarrassment for good measure.

Enjolras sighed, then rapped the carriage roof to stop the driver. Theirs was the first carriage so the whole progression was effectively halted. Marius and Courfeyrac also jumped down to take in the air and help Grantaire look for his gloves. Grantaire just about managed to manoeuvre them all to the back entrance instead of the front under the pretence of not wanting to disturb the workers. 

He threw the door of the factory floor open and heard Enjolras’ shaky breath.

30 or so faces of small children looked up at them, hands busy sawing bottoms and collars without stopping.

Enjolras was fighting hard for composure before he gave it up as a losing battle and bellowed for the foreman.

“Explain.” That was not a request.

The foreman was shaking from head to toe. “Sir, apologies, sir, but these children have nowhere else to go. Some are with my workers and they were really too young to be left alone. We gave them a place to go during the day, really, there was nothing to be done besides having them here.”

Enjolras was becoming more and more outraged with every word he heard. “I am not questioning their existence. I am asking why a five-year-old is sewing a button on a coat instead of learning to read in a schoolroom.”

“Well, sir, their parents couldn’t afford to send them to school, sir. We gave them food and shelter here, so they have to give us something in return, do they not sir?" He looked around the room asking for a sympathetic ear. "A business wouldn’t turn a profit otherwise.” The foreman attempted to appeal to reason. Marius looked stricken and Courfeyrac seemed thoughtful.

Grantaire took pity on the man and added. “So when the messenger informed you that the new owner would have no tolerance towards employing children, you took to hiding them in the back room.”

The man gave a shaky nod and Enjolras stared at Grantaire, with something resembling awe in his eyes.

……………………….

They ended up staying in Yorkshire for another night since Enjolras was determined to iron out every single detail on the mills (and find out if there were any more children hiding in a corner) before they could leave. Combeferre informed them all the following morning before departure that the outlook seemed positive and that their venture might be even bigger than the original business plan. They went back to the factory unannounced two more times and brought a country doctor with them to examine the children. After it was clear that the children were poor, but not mistreated, Enjolras begrudgingly retained their foreman instead of letting him go without reference. 

The inn held a dance the night before they took off. Grantaire can count on one hand the number of times he had gone anywhere outside of London and found himself enjoying the relaxed atmosphere and the friendly residents. The locals were enamoured with London ladies like Cosette and Eponine and were intrigued by the two tall Americans who spoke with a funny accent and strange terms. 

As an unattached lady, Eponine was the belle of the ball. Her dance card was full and she was dancing with Combeferre for the second time that night. She tried to teach him the country dance and threw her head back in laughter when the normally unflappble Combeferre missed a step. Grantaire looked for Enjolras to convince him to put his name on Eponine’s card when he saw the man stepped outside onto the balcony. Grantaire followed and saw him leaning on the rail, head tilted up at the sky above.

“People are going to think you are avoiding them you know?”

Enjolras turned to him, seemingly unsurprised, and replied. “You knew there were children at the factory before any of us did.”

And here it was, the subject Grantaire was hoping to avoid. It had been a few days so he let his guard drop. This is the second time in so many days when he should have known better. Enjolras was not a man to let things go without a fight and Grantaire weighed his options.

As a rule, he didn’t lie unless he absolutely had to. Lies were too difficult to keep track of, he simply stuck with half-truth most of the time. 

“I’ve never been to any place of business that doesn’t have children, Mr. Enjolras. A factory worker could not afford a childminder. A ten-year-old fatherless boy is as good as a man but with a cheaper wage. The absence of them spoke volumes on our visit.”

“You could have just told us.”

“I could, but would you listen to me without evidence? The ground was big. I couldn’t tell you in which room the children were kept. I could hear murmurs but that could have been an echo or the stream. Besides, I needed the foreman flustered so he would have less time to think of a cover story.”

“Why me? You must have had a chance to tell Marius this a thousand times,” Enjolras persisted

“Marius, for all his kindness, has his head in the clouds. He would try to do right by them of course, but he knew nothing of how to run a business. This venture would be his first experience. You, on the other hand, look like you were ready to right all the wrongs even if you have to do it by yourself. And you have done it by yourself, we all know about your apprenticeship scheme in your New York factory.” 

“You believed I could fix it?” Enjolras asked with all the weight of the world.

“I believe you would.” 

Grantaire didn’t realise how much closer Enjolras had gravitated toward him. He could feel the taller man’s eyes on his face and his bergamot cologne on his jacket. Enjolras was moving closer still, breath ghosting Grantaire’s cheeks when Grantaire tore himself away and smiled brightly. 

“Come, Mr. Enjolras, you absolutely must dance. The people will talk and we can’t have you disgracing the whole American continent by being a terrible representative, do we?”

Enjolras looked disappointed but he put up a small smile. “Ahh, about that. I am not a very good dancer and would only bring more shame to America if I were to attempt the complicated movement you people call dancing in there. I suspect it was all invented to humiliate any and all newcomers.” 

Before he could stop himself, Grantaire started laughing and put his hands up in an invitation for Enjolras to follow. To his credit, Enjolras put his left hands in Grantaire’s right, and his right hand on the small of Grantaire’s back. His breath hitched at the contact but he started guiding Enjolras along to the music anyway.

It turned out Enjolras was not exaggerating when he claimed to be an abysmal dancer. He stumbled, stepped on Grantaire’s toes, and spun in the wrong direction. Before long, Grantaire gave up on actually teaching the man but simply moved about freely. Throwing his hands up and down while Enjolras fought in vain not to shriek with laughter.

“Mr. Enjolras, you must employ a dancing instructor if you are to have any hope of finding a wife,” Grantaire exclaimed breathlessly. 

Enjolras’ smile froze in place and he gave Grantaire a levelling look. “You must not be as perceptive as I thought you were if you harbour any notion of me seeking a wife.”

They continued moving to the music, but it was decidedly more subdued than before, both men lost in their own thoughts.

……………………….

For the weeks that followed, Grantaire and Eponine continued to receive inexplicable visits from Enjolras and Combeferre in their drawing room. They went riding in Hyde Park, followed Eponine in her shopping. Took tea with Cosette and Marius. Eventually, Grantaire and Eponine had to acknowledge the elephant in the room.

“So…” Grantaire began

“Yes.” Eponine concurred.

“Do we need to actually say it out loud?”

“That our rubbish plan crashed and burn worse than the London fire.”

“In my defence it was your plan, not mine.”

“Lord, R, let me have this. Who would have thought the American would turn out to be some saints. The other day Combeferre caught one of Gavroche’s cronies trying to pick his pocket and took the urchin for a meal then gave him even more money.” She rolled her eyes for added emphasis. 

“I’m happy for you, ‘Ponine. He is a good man and I am frankly terrified of his endless talents.” 

Grantaire looked at Eponine and smiled.

“Oh hush,” she said without real heat. “We can’t be certain that he feels the same way.” Grantaire raised an eyebrow in a challenge and Eponine threw a pillow at him.

“I wouldn’t mind moving to America. My father won’t find us there,” she murmured. 

Grantaire let himself look at Eponine. For so long, they had only had each other. He knew he could trust her with his life. But it was a tiring life, having to hide who they were and forging an armour around themselves, too afraid to let anyone in. Meeting someone like Combeferre, someone so relentlessly kind and caring allowed Eponine some breathing space. Her hard exterior softened and she smiled more every day. 

Grantaire realised with a jolt that there wasn’t anything he wouldn’t do to keep Eponine in this state of peace. 

“One day, I shall tell him about me. He wouldn’t mind, I don’t think. I am not ashamed of what we had to do to survive, R. You should think about telling Enjolras too,” she added.

Grantaire stilled. “No. He doesn’t need to know. I have no desire to cross the Atlantic and he will just forget about me in no time.” 

He must have looked appropriately miserable because Eponine didn’t push any further, but she signed and fixed him with a thoughtful look. 

“I think you underestimated Enjolras’ stubbornness here.”

Grantaire let out an inelegant snort “The man is worse than the worst mule, I know. But I can’t let myself have this, Eponine. He’s so good, too good for me. I would only bring him down." He was surprised to feel tears welling up in his eyes. He needed a better grip on his emotion. "Think of what he can do without having to hide me like a dirty secret. The people he can save, maybe he would go into politics and fix the law once and for all. I can’t stay until he resents me. I don’t think I can stomach it if he ever finds out who I truly am.” 

Grantaire shook his head and made to get up when his valet Joly rapped the door.

“Sir, Mr. Enjolras is here. Shall I let him in?” The again went without saying, but the twinkles in Joly’s eyes spoke volumes. 

Grantaire and Eponine stood up to greet Enjolras, but Combeferre was curiously missing today.

“Mr. Enjolras, what a pleasant surprise. I thought we would see you at Marius’ dinner tonight?” Grantaire asked, genuinely perplexed by Enjolras’ slight blush. He was shifting from foot to foot nervously. Grantaire was amused and alarmed in equal measures. Enjolras’ name was synonymous with decisiveness to him.

“Oh about that, I hope you wouldn’t mind accompanying me to my appointment tonight. I took the liberty of making excuses for you and arranged for Cosette and Combeferre to accompany Miss Grantaire tonight. I know it was awfully presumptuous of me, but I hope you would humour me just for this one night?” Enjolras rushed all of the words out in one go and chanced a hopeful look at Grantaire. 

Oh well. Grantaire seemed to be able to deny the man nothing. Even without the intriguing, mysterious destination in mind, he would have done whatever Enjolras wanted anyway. In for a penny and all that, he thought with a defeat.

“Of course, at the moment the mystery is too enticing for me to go to Baron Pontmercy anyway. As painful as it is to deprive myself of the future Pontmercys’ not at all sickening display of affection, I shall endeavour to survive on your account.” 

Enjolras’ reply was a startled laugh he tried to cover with a cough.

Enjolras had a carriage waiting for them by the door. He wouldn’t tell Grantaire where they were going but Grantaire could tell they were heading east. After a while, the driver slowed down in front of a brightly lit large carriage house.

Inside, twenty or so children were eating dinner, and a delicate young man with bright red hair dressed in a mismatched jacket and cravat, smiling brightly at them. 

“Mr. Enjolras! You should have told us you were coming. We could have bribed the children with one of your stories from America,” the man said, while Enjolras beamed and gently guided Grantaire in by his elbow. 

“Mr. Prouvaire, thank you for having me again. May I introduce you to Mr. Grantaire, my dear friend?” Enjolras added with a smile. 

“Has Mr. Enjolras been burdening you with his presence, sir?” Grantaire teased, but Mr. Prouvaire only looked at him quizzically.

“Why, of course not, sir. Mr. Enjolras opened the orphanage not a fortnight ago! We have been in touch with churches and poor houses to bring in any children they couldn’t take. He’s been coming to us nearly every day since.”

This was one of perhaps three instances in Grantaire’s life where he was truly rendered speechless. Enjolras had remembered the very first conversation they had and went out to right a wrong, one orphan at a time. Grantaire wasn’t quite prepared for Enjolras. He doubted anyone had ever been prepared to be hit with this hurricane of such force and conviction. Grantaire could do nothing but gape at the man like a, particularly dimwitted fish. 

Enjolras must not be able to read Grantaire’s silence, since he started talking again without prompting.

“Courfeyrac’s former commander from the military was a patron of a children’s charity so we made contact with him. General Lamarque got us started and introduced us to the right people. We agreed that for every factory we opened, a portion of the profits would be put into this orphanage.” He exhaled, looking a little less pained as he continued, “Mr. Prouvaire here took pity on us and agreed to stay here as a tutor and Courfeyrac is better than anyone when it comes to children, so he will take over this part of the operation. We have so many plans, Grantaire. We formally secured the lease of this building yesterday and I wanted to wait until I know for certain it will be a long-term structure to show you since you were the one that struck this match. People seldom disagree with me, and none did it so spectacularly as you did. I'm beginning to learn that being wrong might not be the worst thing after all.” 

Enjolras was so earnest and anxious for Grantaire’s approval that it made his heart ache. Mr. Prouvaire was watching the two of them with a tender smile playing on his face and Grantaire didn’t think he could be trusted to say anything in front of an audience.

Enjolras didn’t know how much it meant to him, to have his dreams made real. To see one less child left for dead on the street like he once was, to know that a little boy wouldn’t have to learn how to dive into the themes for loose change or a little girl wouldn’t need to beg on the street was a goal he hadn’t quite allowed himself to envision. He could weep with joy, but he settled with asking if Enjolras would speak to him in private outside. 

They went to the back of the building, safely away from any prying eyes and ears when Enjolras, evidently still anxious for Grantaire’s input, started again.

“Grantaire, if I overstepped, I….” He trailed off

“You,” Grantaire said, while continuing to stare at Enjolras to memorise every little detail about the man. He grabbed Enjolras’ lapels and crushed their mouths together, pouring all the things he couldn’t put into words into the kiss. Enjolras all but melted against him. He hummed happily and opened his lips to grant Grantaire better access. Grantaire took the invitation eagerly, sliding the tip of his tongue to meet Enjolras’ with the barest pressure. Enjolras deepened their kiss and put his hands in Grantaire’s hair to bring them even closer and Grantaire threw his arms on the taller man’s shoulders, holding on tightly. 

They pushed and pulled until the need for air forced them apart. Enjolras moved an infinitely small distance away, still panting. He looked Grantaire in the eyes, and said, “I should have opened an orphanage the moment I arrived in London, shouldn’t I?” Grantaire opened his mouth to protest, but Enjolras recognised the beginning of an argument when he saw one and sealed their lips back together.

They spent the carriage ride back to Grantaire’s in each other’s arms, stealing kisses when the road was dark and breaking away only when they absolutely had to. Enjolras’ hands started wandering under Grantaire’s jacket as he all but climbed into Enjolras’ lap. 

Enjolras didn’t seem to mind. He was very much preoccupied with sucking bruises into Grantaire’s neck, both their cravats pulled haphazardly out of the way. Grantaire retaliated by grinding to Enjolras’ length through his breeches, pressing his hip down firmly. 

“Grantaire, you can’t do that here,” Enjolras whined while pressing closer to his touch and biting Grantaire’s left ear. Well, that shouldn’t have felt so good. Grantaire’s clothing was now uncomfortably tight. He needed so much more and when he had a bad idea, his mind ran like a freight train. 

“But are you going to stop me?” He purred and silenced Enjolras with his kiss. He used the distraction to his advantage, opening his breeches then stroking himself twice, letting the leaking tip pressed firmly against Enjolras’ clothed stomach. “Can I do this then?” He whispered against Enjolras’ gaping mouth. Enjolras made a noise in his throat that sounded suspiciously like a growl and bit down at the junction where Grantaire’s neck and shoulder. He pulled his own cock out and grasped both of them in his hands.

“Fucking hell, Grantaire. You are going to kill me.” He stroked them together, wrist twisting as he moved up and down. Grantaire rutted against Enjolras’ fist shamelessly while trying in vain to stifle his moan. The heat and friction of their cocks rubbing together was driving Grantaire out of his mind 

The driver must have felt the commotion in the carriage, but they were well and truly beyond caring. Enjolras’ touches were frantic, each caress sending unbearable pleasures through Grantaire’s skin. They were racing against the clock and their desperation threatened to overwhelm him. He had never been wanted like this, but he also didn’t remember ever wanting to crawl into anyone’s skin before.

He couldn’t stop mumbling streams of praise and filth in Enjolras’ ears. He needed this magnificent man to know what he was doing to him. “You are so gorgeous. You feel so good, how are you so big? Will you fuck me?" Grantaire bit down on his earlobe. "I need so much more. I need your cock in me. Fuck my mouth. Fuck my arse. I don’t care, I just need you to. I’ll make it so good for you, I-”

He was cut off mid-sentence with his release, spilling all over Enjolras and himself. The sight seemed to be all Enjolras needed to reach his own limits. He let out a low groan and pulled Grantaire into a hard, lingering kiss while riding his orgasm out. 

Much sooner than either of them expected, the carriage slowed down and Grantaire scrambled to make himself somewhat presentable. 

“Mr. Enjolras,” Grantaire started with a glance at the driver. “Thank you for the lovely journey. I bid you goodnight.” 

Grantaire couldn’t invite Enjolras in, not when he still had yet to tell Eponine how far he let things progress. Their safety was at stake and they would have to plan the next step carefully. He couldn’t possibly think of anything else with Enjolras in any proximity. If he didn’t know any better though, he would almost describe Enjolras’ reaction as an honest to God _pout _at the dismissal.__

____

____

To soften the blow, he reached up to adjust Enjolras’ cravat and whispered “Eponine is probably home, but you may call on me tomorrow when she visits her friends for tea.” Enjolras was much more receptive to this new statement.

“Tomorrow,” He said it like a promise.

“Tomorrow,” Grantaire pledged.

……………………….

As usual, Eponine anticipated his steps. She was so overjoyed that Grantaire finally “removed a stick from his behind” and put everyone out of their misery since it was painful for all involved to watch him and Enjolras dance around one another. She said Grantaire could work for Courfeyrac running the orphanage, as any member of the White’s who dared to contribute to the betterment of society instead of sitting around reading the papers would promptly be shunned; Grantaire would fade into obscurity in no time. Eponine could also disgrace her nonexistent relatives by marrying an American man of business and her parents would hopefully stop looking for them. 

The quiet life was not a goal Grantaire nor Eponine ever cared for, but love did have a way of bringing a longing for contentment into one’s heart. 

Grantaire, for his parts, remained sceptical, but he didn’t have the heart to tell Eponine any of his misgivings. She looked far too happy for him to try and infect her with his hopelessness.

Enjolras, it turned out, was still running a business and couldn’t pay a visit to Grantaire the next day. Instead, he sent a message informing them of an emergency in the Yorkshire mill and invited Grantaire and Eponine to attend the announcement of the new partnership in two days. 

Madeleine arranged for a country house party as a part of the celebration and they were welcomed to travel with Cosette to Leeds. They set off after minimum panic about wardrobes and servants. Cosette kept shooting them a knowing look and musing a double wedding ceremony. Grantaire didn’t even think Eponine could blush, but mentioning that would probably get himself a low and painful death. 

They arrived in Madeleine's estate with little fanfare. Cosette informed them that the property was recently acquired to be a wedding present for her and Marius, so her papa had not had time to undertake all the upkeep needed yet. The building was still breathtaking, however. It was an old brick structure on top of an Italian garden overlooking an expansive lake. The east wing was closed off due to disrepair but Madeleine furnished the rest of the house with all the modern comfort money could offer. To Grantaire, the ivy and loose stones on the disrepair wing only added to the charm and history of the place. It looked like an enchanted castle, full of secrets and stories to be told (not to mention hiding spots, useful for lurking, old habits die hard, and all that). 

The house was full of workmen and gardeners, scrambling for finishing touches before the main party. Grantaire had an uncomfortable sensation of being watched, but he was used to it, looking the way he did among the London gentry. Yorkshire workers were even less familiar with anyone remotely different looking. He caught a few maids openly staring at Combeferre after all (but that could be just that Combeferre was truly very strikingly handsome).

The next day, guests and factory workers gathered at the mill. Madeleine and his longtime secretary Mr. Javert announced their retirement and thanked the community for their work and their acceptance of the new faces. Some smiled and some narrowed their eyes when Enjolras walked up the low platform and began his speech.

“Before I came to Yorkshire, I didn’t know what to expect besides strong wind and stronger tea.” A few chuckles “Now that I am here, I couldn’t be more grateful for my decision. I didn’t know then that I would meet such hard-working, honest, and good people.” 

He looked at Grantaire. “I didn’t know that people can have such a capacity for love and sympathy. And I want more than anything to be a part of this noble community. Please don’t take me at my word, but allow us to prove ourselves to you.” 

Enjolras then addressed the whole assembly. “We are not only building new mills, but we are building a community. All workers will have three meals a day and allotments should they want them. School rooms, a chapel, a hospital, and almshouses are being built as we speak. Your children will have an education and apprenticeship. They will grow up knowing that their future is bright. Their future is love. I want our community to thrive and all I ask is for you to speak your mind if your needs are not being met and to take care of one another. Thank you.” 

Enjolras said to the quiet hall before thunderous applause rang out. 

He found Grantaire’s eyes again and Grantaire fought to stop his tears from spilling. Enjolras, stubborn, idealistic, Enjolras never had any pretty words or expensive gifts for Grantaire. He didn’t try to convince Grantaire with charms or promises; he went out to fix what Grantaire said was broken and hoped that it was enough to make himself understood.

Grantaire found his defence crumbling like a house of cards. If he thought he had grown to admire and venerate Enjolras, if he thought Enjolras was stunning before, it had nothing on the full lightning bolt that hit him the moment Enjolras looked at him just now. 

He could walk away from great men, rich men, powerful men, but Enjolras was also a good man. Grantaire felt affection well up in his chest like a flower in spring. If Enjolras somehow deemed Grantaire worthy of standing beside him while he changed the world. Grantaire would try to be brave and let his actions speak too. He would try to believe, to be strong and hopeful for Enjolras. 

Enjolras moved toward him with a bright smile. He made polite excuses to people wanting to shake his hand and swept Grantaire toward a well-hidden balcony. Grantaire threw his arms around his shoulders once again and let Enjolras kiss him silly.

“You wonderful, delusional, magnificent, mad man.” Grantaire punctuated his kisses with those words. “You are something else, Enjolras. You do know there are a thousand more mills in England, don’t you? Are you going to buy all of them?”

“Yes.” Enjolras said with all the conviction in the world and kissed him some more. “And I want you to be there while I mend every one of them. I want you there in the morning when I plan it out. I want you there in the evening when I take stock of my day. I want you there in the middle of the night when I can’t solve a problem and need you to tell me where I went wrong. I want you there every moment in between. Would that be amenable to you?”

Grantaire got down on his knees and smirked up at Enjolras to show how amenable he was.

……………………….

Grantaire was still over the moon when he, Eponine, and Cosette got on the carriage back to the house in preparation for the party, while the rest of their friends and lovers stayed behind to finish up with the factory. He took a walk around the expansive garden as he waited for his companions to get ready. It was amazing how many components there were when it came to a lady’s attire. He dutifully gave his opinions on what they should wear and moved on to take in a scenic walk around the lake. The late summer air gave a slight chill but the smell of berries and elderflowers still lingered in the air. The place was so beautiful and the day preceding it was so perfect that Grantaire couldn’t see how far he had walked until he felt a blade pressed into his back. 

“Hello little R.”

There was only one person who called him that. Grantaire hadn’t heard the voice in two years and it chilled him to the bone.

“Hello Montparnasse. Still alive and well?” Grantaire replied.

“Alive but of course not as well as you and Eponine, I’d wager.” Montparnasse sneered. “Consorting with peers of the realm and American tycoons now are we?”

“How did you find us?” Grantaire defected. He needed to stall Montparnasse while he tried to think of a way to get away without getting stabbed. Stupid, stupid of him for venturing this far all alone. They were safe for a long time, flying under the radar, getting by with low-level scams until the two Americans showed up and made them feel even safer. 

He needed to find something to help them get out of this without dragging Enjolras and Combeferre into the mess. He wrecked his brain for any shred of information on Montparnasse that he could use.

“Full of ourselves, are we not? Who cares about you and little ‘Ponine,” Montparnasse started again with the degrading prefix. “We found out that little Cosette is going to be a Baroness next month and isn’t it interesting that her adoptive father looked remarkably similar to a convict on a run for the last ten years? Think of all the money he would be willing to give to keep that nugget of truth from coming out.” Montparnasse smiled, which somehow arranged his otherwise lovely features into a terrifying expression. “Finding you two was just an unexpected blessing. I must say, I am impressed with how far you two managed to claw up. You didn’t even look twice at the workmen and gardeners walking about your friends’ estate now. What are they to you? Just some day labourers beneath your station. How fast one forgets one’s roots, little R. That Enjolras is some kind of magnate, is he not? Perhaps you can set aside a small allowance for your old friends, and none shall be the wiser?” 

Montparnasse had an annoying habit of marking his threats with questions. He didn’t quite manage to keep the bitterness from his voice, but he compensated for it by pressing the blade closer to Grantaire’s back. He can feel the fabric of his coat give way to the sharp blade. 

“You don’t scare me. Eponine will marry the secretary and he is penniless. Madeleine is retiring. You have nothing to gain from us.” 

Montparnasse only laughed humorlessly. “So it was not you I saw pressing up to the rich American earlier today? You forgot who taught you how to kiss, R. Last I checked sodomy was still against the law here. Do we want to find out if an American can be hung on English soil? What about you? Do we want to know if a little street urchin would be sacrificed to save a rich man?”

Grantaire didn’t know if he could kill a person. He was a boxer and had broken countless noses and arms, but he never did irreversible damage to another human being. However, he couldn’t see what else to do. Montparnasse would never stop coming after them. If it were just himself, he would simply disappear, but Montparnasse, and by extension, the Patron-Minette of the East end was after everyone he loved. Grantaire had to do something and he was acting on limited information. He didn’t know if his decision right then was a correct one, but he had to try. 

Perhaps that was all anyone can do. 

The knife remained pressed on his back and Grantaire settled himself for a battle before he stumbled and made Montparnasse catch him. The blade slipped for a second but that was all Grantaire needed to knock backward with this head. He heard a satisfying cracking sound of a nose being broken and made a run for it. Montparnasse slammed into him and tackled him to the ground within seconds, but Grantaire knocked his elbow back against Montparnasse’s broken nose again. The pain sent him whirling back a step and Grantaire knew Montparnasse was now operating under rage rather than greed. Good. Angry people made more mistakes. 

Grantaire jumped up from the mud and made straight for the house. With any luck, the party would not be in full swing and guests would be none the wiser. Javert’s office was on the back of the west wing and the secretary was a member of the Scotland Yard before he came to work for Madeleine eight years ago. Grantaire prayed he could make it to the office before they attracted too much attention, but he knew he couldn’t run too fast and risk Montparnasse knowing where his destination was. He pretended to struggle some more while guiding Montparnasse towards the servants’ entrance of the building. He hissed in pain as Montparnasse’s blade sliced into his forearm, but he got one back by colliding his kick with Montparnasse’ stomach. As soon as they were within earshot of the staff, Grantaire screamed for help. 

It was an excruciating few seconds before he heard footsteps and saw stunned faces of their servants. He pinned Montparnasse to the ground and shouted for someone to get Javert. With the help of two footmen, Grantaire was able to tie Montparnasse’s hands with a rope and then his torso to a chair in Javert’s office.

Javert, predictably, came in with Madeleine. They took one look at Grantaire, covered in mud and blood, and a man tied to a chair and told the footmen not to let anyone into the wing. 

“I don’t think I know where to begin, Mr. Grantaire, so why don’t you tell us?” Javert said with surprising gentleness.

Grantaire simply let Montparnasse do the talking while his blood trickled down his nose still. After Montparnasse deemed his threat and insults sufficient, he continued to sneer. 

“I am not working alone, so you will never be rid of us. Pay up and my men will leave you untouched, think of it as procuring our protection service.”

“You mean those men I found wandering this office and the mill’s ledger room? Let’s see, Claquesous, Babet, and Gueulemer, are those names familiar to you? For gardeners, you lot seemed to have quite the curiosity for your employer’s papers,” Javert replied with bone-chilling calmness. Grantaire begrudgingly admired Montparnasse for not flinching.

“Oh them? They are mere foot soldiers my friends. I believe you are aquatinted with my other associate, Mr. Thenadiers, Mr. Jean Valjean?” Montparnasse pressed with a self-satisfying smile of a man who drew an ace and was waiting to use it at the right moment. 

Javert, however, seemed prepared for the attack. 

“Jean Valjean you said? That can’t be right, since we have him recorded as one of the deceased in the Sheffield Flood when the dam broke eight years ago. He was one of the factory men in the area I believe.” Madeleine then picked up from Javert, as stunned Montparnasse looked on. “My daughter Cosette had been receiving the most distressing missives. They revealed a rather extensive knowledge of an orphanage some years ago that was brought down by Scotland Yard for child abuse. I heard the proprietors escaped by the skin of their teeth. With these letters Cosette had been receiving though; we finally tracked down the people responsible for that atrocity. I believe the London police are moving to arrest them as we speak.”

As understanding dawned on Montparnasse. A commotion outside of the office drew their attention.  
“Papa! Papa! Father? Open up, please! What is happening?” Cosette's panicked voice carried into the room, followed by Marius’ murmur, clearly attempting to soothe her. 

It was Enjolras’ voice, however, that spoke up again.  
“Mr. Madeleine, if you and everyone in the room is well. Would you please let us in?” 

Madeleine gave an almost imperceptible nod to Javert, who went to get the door. In addition to the three voices they heard, Combeferre and Eponine also appeared in the doorway.

“Courfeyrac is seeing to the party,” Combeferre said by way of explanation. The room tensed into silence when Montpanasee broke into a vicious grin. 

“Well, it seems like I can still have my fun before they hang me at the gallows after all,” He said, eyes pierced into Eponine, who raised her chin in a challenge.  
“Mr. and Miss Grantaire indeed. Born to a shipping empire I heard. Who would have thought an empire could exist in a gutter in Limehouse, huh?” Montparnasse added cruelly. “Unless we count thefts and scams as legitimate businesses now, of course”

Javert gave a huff and kicked Montparnasse’s chair down.  
“You really don’t know what is good for you, do you?” He asked with resignation then turned to address the room. “Baron Pontmercy, could I trouble you to fetch the constable from the ballroom? Please tell him to meet me at the stable.” He jerked Montparnasse up and left the room at the same time as Marius. 

Madeleine went to hold Cosette, he whispered to her quietly, too soft for anyone to hear. He guided her out of the room while Combeferre looked at Eponine posing a silent question and Enjolras went to Grantaire, who slumped back into his chair.

“Grantaire, you are hurt. Would you let me see where the blood came from?” He asked gently. Grantaire shook his head, tears falling freely. His chest was tight with the pain of a shattered dream. How could Enjolras look at him with that worried expression on his face? He should hate Grantaire. He should run away back to America and forget the whole ordeal and not look at Grantaire as if he would break.

Combeferre, again proven himself to be part deity, stepped up and said “May I? I was trained as a physician before I started working with Enjolras.” He must have known that Grantaire couldn’t look at Enjolras yet, or he was allowing Eponine to gather her thoughts while he kneeled down and inspected a cut on Grantair’s arm and turned to Enjolras “Enjolras, could you go to the kitchen and fetch us some hot water and a clean cloth, please? I need to clean the wound before it becomes infected.” Enjolras looked ready to argue, but he took in Grantaire’s state and left the room quietly.

“Now, would either of you care to tell me what is going on?”

……………………….

By the time his wound was clean Grantaire was fully convinced that Combeferre was actually a demigod. The process kept everyone distracted and gave Grantaire an excuse to look anywhere but Enjolras. Eponine recounted their life story, her voice steady even when her eyes shone with unshed tears. 

They were strong, Eponine and Grantaire. They had survived abuse, near starvation, insults, homelessness and countless small cruelties. They would accept whatever Combeferre and Enjolras’ wanted, even when the glimpse of what could have been was so bright the thought of giving them up became a physical ache. When Eponine finished, Combeferre looked stricken, with sympathy or betrayal, Grantaire couldn’t tell. 

He asked Eponine to take a walk with him and before the door fully closed he could hear Combeferre’s voice rung out.  
“Before you say anything, please know that I only admire you more-”

Eponine would be safe, then. She would finally be able to settle down without fear. She could get her brother and sister out, perhaps go see America and all its promises of a new beginning. That left Enjolras with him. He no longer had an option to look at Combeferre’s hands cleaning his cuts and bruises or at Eponine for some borrowed fortitude. He owed Enjolras that much. Grantaire dragged his eyes up from the floor, finally facing Enjolras.

“Let me take you to your bedchamber.” Of all things, he thought Enjolras would say. This was not one of them. He sputtered out a question, but Enjolras just gently helped him up from his chair, avoiding the wound on his arms. “You need rest,” He continued firmly.

They proceeded on the servant’s passage in silence, for which Grantaire should have been grateful, but could not stand. “Enjolras,” he began. “I’m sorry. I-” but he was interrupted.

“Was any of this true? Did our friendship mean anything to you?”

“What?” Grantaire said again, intelligently, of all things Enjolras should be angry with him about, his feelings should not make it into the primary concerns. “Enjolras, if there is one thing in the world I have not lied to you about. It is us. I adore you, who wouldn’t? You might as well be the sun, the moon, the stars for all I know I could do nothing but be drawn to you." This confession quite possibly cost Grantaire his sanity. "I lied plenty, but please, never doubt that I had never meant to cause you any pain. In fact, I would do anything to never cause you any pain ever again.” 

“Then the rest can wait.”

“No, you deserve an explanation.” Grantaire had to try before his courage could fail him.

“And I will get one, as soon as you recover. You were stabbed, R. You were dragged through the mud and you are still limping. I will not ask this of you now. I need you to rest and recover.”

The affectionate familiarity of his nickname was almost too much for Grantaire to bear. Enjolras pitied him, he supposed. Enjolras would not disgrace anyone who was born disadvantaged. He was far too kind, too noble. They arrived at Grantaire’s door and Enjolras gently pushed him in, while pulling a bell for a servant. He excused himself when Joly came in and started fussing as soon as he saw the state of Grantaire.

“Sir, what have you done? You haven’t come home covered in mud in weeks! Are we to expect more street bawls? Should I retain a live-in physician from now on? And there’s blood!” Joly whined while efficiently undressing Grantaire and fetching him a fresh nightshirt.

“He is going to hate me, Joly,” Grantaire said in a daze.

“No, he isn’t,” Joly replied firmly, but not unkindly. Grantaire must have lost his mind since Joly seemed to know whom he was talking about immediately.

“I am not who he thought I was. Oh, Joly, you are going to hate me too. I might not be able to give you and Bossuet references. What will you do? I am so terribly sorry, Joly. I have deceived you.”

“Sir, we all knew you weren’t in a shipping business for as long as we have known you.”

“What? How? Why didn’t you say something?”

“It didn’t matter, did it, sir? You were kind and you paid our wages on time. You knew I shared my bed with Bossuet and you still have us without any questions." Joly spoke his mind slowly like Grantaire was a particularly dimwitted child. "Your past is your own and we thought we would reciprocate your courtesy. To us, you are a gentleman in all but birth and Mr. Enjolras doesn’t strike me as someone who cares much for pedigrees.”

“How did you know?” Grantaire was still reeling from the surprise.

“I have never seen a businessman with less understanding of a ledger. Have you ever balanced a book before you pick shipping as your main source of income? I myself thought you should have gone into arts dealing as a better cover. Oh, and your accent slipped whenever you were excited about something.” Joly finished with a small smile.

Grantaire let out a relieved breath. At least his men seemed to know their way about and should be able to fend for themselves. Another panic rose in its place though, if Joly and Bossuet could see through his cover so easily. Who else might have known and pocketed that fact away for convenient use. Montparnasse and Thenadier had been dealt with, but how many more would come for him if his cover was truly blown. He couldn’t risk Eponine and he definitely would not risk Enjolras’ still fragile reputation and hundreds of workers and children that depend on him.

“I might have to go away for a while, Joly.” Grantaire said and raised his hand to stop Joly before he could protest. “Eponine will be married soon and she will need to furnish her household with more staff. Would you help her? You and Bossuet? I know Combeferre would have you in a heartbeat.” Joly set his jaw, fully prepared to continue the protest, but saw Grantaire’s face and gave a curt nod instead.

“That would be all, Joly,” Grantaire said. “Oh and...thank you. For tonight and for every night you took care of me.” 

……………………….

Joly was the last person Grantaire spoke to before he came face to face with Enjolras in the middle of the night at the east lawn. 

“So I predictably fell for the most beautiful and generous man I have ever seen.”

“So you said, but now you climbed out of the window to escape said man and that is giving me mixed messages here.”

“Christ, Enjolras. Look at me! I am not worth it,” Grantaire shouted. “Two months since the day you met me and now you have criminals surrounding your party. Did you not miss the part where I tricked several lords into investing in nonexistent ships? Someone will always come after me and you do not need that. You can’t risk your standing for me. I am not worth it.” Grantaire’s day must have been more taxing than he thought because he gave up on any pretense of dignity. It might have been easier to make up some lies to Enjolras and make the man hate him, but Grantaire was sick of lying. His whole body trembled and he didn’t know how long he could keep this conversation going. 

“Grantaire, please look at me.”

“I can’t. Enjolras, please. I am trying to do the right thing here. I have nothing to offer you”

Enjolras moved to kneel in front of him and put his hands on both sides of Grantaire’s face, infinitely gently. 

“What is the right thing, R? It was not right that your parents left you and Thanadier beat you and Eponine bloody when you were children.” His face was set with rage. “It was not right that where you were born should dictate your entire destiny. You bore no responsibility for doing what you had to do to survive and through it all, you refuse to hurt anyone else. You tried to secure your staff new employment. You got stabbed to save Madeleine from blackmail, for heaven’s sake. And now you are trying to save me a bit of very small, insubstantial trouble by running away.”

“Do not exaggerate, Enjolras. I seem much nobler when you put it like that.” 

“it is so because it is true. I have no need for money. I care not for the public’s opinion of me. I have never even entertained the thought of romance until I met a man so contradicting I could not help but pay him all my attention. You wouldn’t be so cruel as to take this away from me now, would you?” He rained gentle kisses all over Grantaire’s face. “I know everything I need to know about you and I love you, wholeheartedly, without reservation.”

“Without self-preservation, more like.” Grantaire muttered.

“I made my choice. I love you.” 

“I have several off-putting habits, Enjolras. The criminal past was just a small part of a very unpromising parcel. I often sleep in until noon. I drink ale for breakfast and I can’t even begin to understand math.”

“Good thing I am not retaining you as my clerk then. I love you.”

“This is a terrible idea. Do you make investments with this type of blind optimism?” 

Enjolras’ lips twitched with an air of a man who knew he’d won a prize and was going to be smug about it. 

“Again, you’re not an investment. I love you. Would you let me?”

Grantaire let him.

**Author's Note:**

> -Enjolras' socialist google campus dream was a real place. It is called the Salts Mill and the founder felt so strongly about it he built the whole town to improve the community here. It now houses a bunch of things, including a music school and an art gallery with a massive David Hockney collection. I have a feeling both our boys would approve. Please go visit if you have a chance, their bookstore has a whole shelf just for staff recommendations. I swooned.  
> -Gin babies lifted straight from Sarah Waters' Fingersmith. I tried to factcheck the part, but couldn't find any academic reference on it. However, the gin craze was a very real crisis in 18th century London.  
> \- All my knowledge of Brits marrying Americans for money came from Downton Abbey and I refuse to do more research on it.  
> \- I modelled Valjean's country estate after Harewood House in Leeds, its goooorgeous. Please go visit on your day out to the Salts Mill.  
> \- I referenced the brick and the musical here and there, I couldn't help it! But I believe I should be commended for my restraint of not putting permets-tu there at the end.  
> \- British spelling is HARD y'all. My partner is British (he's from Leeds, surprise surprise) and he proofread some of this for me, but if you catch a z or a lack of (frankly unnecessary) u somewhere please just blame the lifetime of American education in me.  
> -BOOK RECS. So when I read the brick it felt like it's a collection of Vicky's favorite things? He just wrote the whole damn thing as a cover for him to ted talk us about what he likes. So in honor of this proud tradition, if you like this story, I think you would LOVE Fingersmith (above), anything Cat Sebastian (especially the Turner series, SO GOOD), and the Desperate Duchesses Series by Eloisa James (I'm super partial to Three Weeks With Lady X)  
> -This note is getting very long, but thank you so much for reading! Let me know if you like it and want me to expand on his universe. Choices include Eponine's pov, Courfeyrac and Jehan's adventure with the orphanage, or Enjolras and Grantaire adjusting to the country life (there will be baby animals) or anything you feel a burning desire for, really.


End file.
